


Supplemental Hydration

by RedundantHarpoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, F/F, Mating Cycles/In Heat, POV Alternating, Seriously The POV Shifts Rapidly and Without Notice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedundantHarpoons/pseuds/RedundantHarpoons
Summary: If it is simple biology that drives her to remove her implant herself, careful as can be, she doesn’t really care: She wants what she wants, and Moira wants the same, and that’s enough for her. She knows it will take a few days for the heat-suppressants to work their way out of her system, and she sighs as she looks at the little implant. So long, control.





	Supplemental Hydration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CyborgShepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyborgShepard/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Water Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219427) by [CyborgShepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyborgShepard/pseuds/CyborgShepard). 



> **This is a fanfic of a fanfic. To be "caught up," please read Water Me by CyborgShepard, linked above, first.**
> 
> I wrote this before chapter three was released, so a few things might seem off from Shep's Water Me canon, but, well, it's an AU of an AU I guess!

In the weeks since their return from Belgium they arranged for shared quarters, and in the years that followed Moira and Angela accepted and embraced their bond. They work well together, they always have, and it’s not wrong when people say they were made for one another. A perfect complement.

Life continues much as it likely does for other couples. It’s comfortably domestic, the only difference between themselves and others being the implant under Angela’s skin, the regular medication Moira chooses instead.

As time passes it is not their biology that stirs Moira to bring it up, but her love for Angela, the way she feels when she sees Angela caring for their friends’ children. Moira is not sappy, she never has been, and she would eschew any mention of a “biological clock,” but nor is her urge to see Angela swollen with her child simply a matter of biology. It’s both, it’s neither. It’s love, completely.

When she asks Angela how she feels about the idea, Angela is hesitant. They are two of the busiest women at Overwatch, would they even have time to care for a child? Angela is happy, and she worries. They would both love any child they created, of course, and Angela has to admit that she has to forcibly deny her feelings when she sees a pregnant omega wrapped in the arms of their alpha, a comfortable family. She wants it, of course she wants it, but she’s afraid. Afraid that it’s simply biology fueling the hunger, that if they give up this carefully crafted dynamic of normalcy, if they give in, what they have worked for might be lost. She tells Moira as much, and Moira understands. Of course Moira understands, as usual Angela echoes her own thoughts back to her. Moira is afraid, of course, but still, Moira wants.

But one thing Moira has never wanted is to do wrong by Angela, and she accepts that Angela may not be so driven to take the risk. She nods, and tells Angela not to worry, that whatever Angela wishes for them, Angela will get. Moira assures her of this, adding only that she is ready if Angela ever wishes, that Angela need only tell Moira that she is ready.

It doesn’t leave Angela’s mind, though, after their conversation. More so than ever before she notices the families, the children, the expectant, and now her own feelings are met with that small voice in the back of her head, “Moira wants this for you. Moira wants this with you. Moira wants you.”

That she fears her want is driven far too much by their underlying biology is not helped by these thoughts, by the sinking clench the unspoken thoughts send deep in her, the warmth they spread through her whole body.

Finally, though, it’s enough. If it is simple biology that drives her to remove her implant herself, careful as can be, she doesn’t really care: She wants what she wants, and Moira wants the same, and that’s enough for her. She knows it will take a few days for the heat-suppressants to work their way out of her system, and she sighs as she looks at the little implant. So long, control.

Perhaps it is the hectic schedules and long days and nights playing tricks on Moira’s senses. It’s the exhaustion, surely, telling her that on the off-chance they have some time together that she can smell Angela, sending her mind back to a wreck of a war-torn little town in Belgium. Surely Angela is doing something different with her hair, or perhaps it’s a new skirt, there’s no other explanation for how alluring Angela is. Truth be told it was paradoxical that she would look so good, Angela actually looked a bit sick lately.

And so it is all the more worrying when Moira receives a short, unexpected comm from Angela late in the day asking if she is coming home soon. Angela was not the type to insist anything about Moira’s schedule: They were both busy, both driven, and neither had ever made a disparaging remark about one another’s tendency to overwork. They understood each other in this. And so Moira, worrying that Angela is in fact sicker than she was letting on, responds quickly. Of course she’ll come home, she can come right away if Angela needs her.

‘Yes,’ is all Moira receives in response, immediate to a worrying degree, and she leaves her charting unfinished. The assistants can complete it for her when they go to code.

She has only time for curt nods and hellos as she passes others in the hall, making a quick pace home. Should she pick up something? Crackers, ginger ale, some take-out soup? Moira doesn’t even know what’s wrong, Angela hadn’t even told her she was sick. She hadn’t said anything, but Moira knew from the way Angela’d had a flush since yesterday, how she’d woken up in the middle of the night to find Angela in the bathroom, and when she’d finally come back to bed she was shining with sweat. But Angela had never been one to hide things, and Moira hadn’t been one to pry. If Angela wanted her to know she was sick, she’d have told her.

And now Moira is cursing Angela for trying to work through it, not just telling her she was sick. She loves Angela’s determination and dedication to her work, yes, but sometimes it makes Angela do stupid things.

It’s faint when the elevator first opens, down the long hall and around the corner from their quarters, only a hint, but Moira picks it up in an instant, a scent she knows. Her brow furrows, and her already quick pace quickens a bit more. No one else is around, not in the halls and not in the small, sunny alcoves dispersed along the corridor. With every step the mounting scent makes it clearer why: There’s no way anyone could mistake it, least of all Moira.

It’s heady and rich and everything Angela, and Moira’s skin itches as she fights the urge to run. She had only the slightest of fears of finding some alpha sniffing around at their front door, drawn by the same scent that urged Moira onward. Their bond was strong, anyone who could smell Angela could smell Moira on her, and the thought only entices Moira more. She should wonder what’s happened, why Angela would enter a heat with her implant, but she can’t.

There’s no cohesive thought in her head, her mind rapidly delivering up visions of Angela spreading her legs for Moira, the taste of Angela’s neck, the rough, needy sounds Angela makes when Moira fucks her. It’s maddening, and Moira’s hands tremble as she struggles to unlock their quarters. She’s stiff, she can feel it, but she doesn’t care; there’s no one around to see her anyway.

She doesn’t so much open the door as fall through it, and Moira swims in Angela’s scent, thick and intoxicating. She barely has the wherewithal to close the door behind her and she shucks her coat clumsily. She knows precisely where Angela is, as much from where the wafting scent is strongest as from the ragged breaths and intermixed soft whimpering she can hear beyond the closed bedroom door.

She doesn’t knock as she pushes the door open, but she does habitually question, “Angela?” and what she thought might sound trepid was anything but. She could hear her own hunger in her voice.

Suppressants are a wonderful thing, an advancement of modern science capable of suppressing ruts and heats for any alpha or omega who wants to lead a normal life. But even suppressants have their limits, and if the scent of Angela filling the floor hasn’t already chipped away at Moira, the sight of Angela like this is enough all on its own.

She’s withdrawn her hand already, but her fingers are shiny and slick where they grip the pillow. Angela is flushed from head to toe, and Moira can see where the sheen of Angela’s sweat meets with the wetness running down her bare thighs. Bare, bare, completely bared for Moira. She’d seen her wife like this before, of course, on her knees with her head down and her ass in the air for her, but God, she’s never seen her like this. By instinct Moira’s hand falls, gripping herself through her slacks, rubbing roughly, and Angela lifts her head from the floor to look back over her shoulder, watching.

If not overcome with her heat Angela would have felt embarrassed. She’d always thought the idea of “presenting oneself to one’s alpha” was absurd, at times when she’d been particularly headstrong she’d even found it offensive, the implication that she would ever just offer herself up to be bred. But as someone had once told her, biology’s habits are hard to break, and it had been everything she could do to restrain herself in the days since the removal of the implant as the heat suppressants wore off.

It had been alright, at first. She found she wanted to be closer to Moira, yes, but that was as much due to the decision to take out the implant than the removal itself. The thoughts had come late in the first day, “innocent” at first. Memories, even, of times they’d lain in bed together on warm, relaxed mornings, all the times she’d felt safe in Moira’s arms, all the times that Moira made her feel protected. But soon they were different memories altogether, kept up at night by thoughts of Moira’s lips against her skin, her hands on her hips, the distant memory of Moira’s knot, hot and swollen inside of her.

She’s pretty sure Moira had noticed; she’d seen her sniffing at the air, seen her eyes on her, and it had just spurred her thoughts onward. They weren’t memories anymore, and she had tucked herself away in the bathroom to visions of Moira finally realizing, finally caught up by Angela’s heat, pushing her down and tearing away her clothing and having her. God, how she’d wanted to open the door when Moira had checked on her last night, pull her in and ride her roughly for as long as it took until her oncoming heat was sated.

What little bit of sanity, control Angela had possessed then reminded her that Moira hadn’t asked for this, wasn’t expecting this. And Moira had work in the morning. So did Angela, of course, but she had known already she wouldn’t be making it in, not in this state. When she’d crawled back into bed beside Moira it was only by virtue of exhaustion she’d been able to resist her, and once she had woken her need had been back in full force, stronger even than before.

Moira had already been gone, of course, and after a message of apology sent to the office Angela had devolved into an absolute mess. How many times had she brought herself to orgasm today, her face pressed into Moira’s pillow, adding another finger each time, unable to find any real satisfaction? Too many, not enough.

God, what if she works late? When Angela had found it in her to wipe her hands on the bedspread and send a comm she had simply been fearful she would be left to her own devices far too long, but when Moira insisted she would come for Angela if she needed her to it had been nearly impossible to respond the way her hands shook, and she was thrusting herself against the pillow between her legs, already soaked through from the day’s activities, before she had even hit send.

And so by the time it came to this, by the time she heard Moira’s keys in the door, she didn’t have the strength or the desire to withstand her basic instinct. “Presenting herself.” It didn’t matter how stupid it sounded, it was all Angela wanted to do, all Angela needed to do. It was simple enough to find herself like this; the creaking and squeaking of the bedframe had hours before brought Angela to her hands and knees on the floor beside the bed. It had only been a matter of pushing aside her soaked pillow and repositioning Moira’s beneath her, settling her face into it and angling her ass toward the closed door.

And so when Moira comes in she doesn’t feel embarrassed, only desperate for her, and when she lifts her face from the scent of Moira to take in the scent of Moira she’s biting her lip to hold back a pleading whine. Moira’s eyes are wide and hungry, her mouth agape. She seems like she’s trying to mouth words, but no sound is coming out, just ragged breaths, and when Angela refocuses on Moira’s hand working herself harshly through her trousers Angela can’t help but groan, push her hips up and back in short, inviting thrusts.

“Don’t just stand there,” Angela whines, not bothering to hide the desperation in her voice, and she is unable to tear her eyes from Moira’s hand as she moans out an afterthought, “I-I'm ready.”

If Moira is waiting for permission, well, either Angela’s words or the pointed thrusting of her hips is enough. She’s already closing the short distance between them, towering over Angela as she trembles on the ground, and she takes only enough time to loose her tie and toss it aside before dropping to her knees behind Angela. She doesn’t need to grab Angela by the hips and pull her so roughly against her, Angela would have taken care of that herself, but she does anyway, and Angela pushes her face back into the pillow to stifle a groan as she feels Moira, hard and ready.

The fabric is rough but not unpleasant, and Angela isn’t bothered by it as Moira grinds against her, only pushing herself roughly against Moira in response, spreading her legs wider for her. Angela isn’t sure what she expected; she knew Moira took suppressants, but she also knew that suppressants could only do so much if stimuli were powerful enough. If she were in her right mind she might delight in being Moira’s powerful stimulus, but right now all she knows is she remembers this Moira, and she knows Moira will give her what she needs.

Moira knows it too, and she only rips her hands away from Angela’s hips and slows her movement in order to wrestle with her belt. Angela continues to rub weakly against her, feeling Moira’s fumbling fingers brushing against her hot skin, and she doesn’t hate it all that much when Moira pulls away, because she knows it will be worth it, she knows what comes next.

Moira’s clumsy, her hands shaking as every impulse, every fiber, every inch of her screams at her to go, go, go, take, take, take, breed, breed, breed, but finally she frees herself from her slacks, soaked through with Angela, pushing them down only enough. Angela’s consistent, maddening thrusts against her find her now, hot, swollen, and bared for her and the lightning it sends through Moira seems to make its way through Angela as well as she groans loudly into Moira’s pillow.

Angela seeks it, craves it, needs it, and when she feels Moira pressed against her she struggles to breathe. She redoubles her thrusts, working herself along Moira who looses a long, loud moan unlike any Angela has heard from her before, and Angela fears her knees will give out.

But Moira’s hands are back on her hips, and it’s only when Moira grips her tightly, forcing her still that Angela slows. There’s no hesitation, no second request for permission, no uncertainty, and Angela lurches forward, the carpet rough on her bare knees, when Moira sinks into her. And again Moira doesn’t hesitate, her strong, thin hands finding Angela’s shoulders, and Moira doesn’t bother trying to stifle her quick, wanton groans as she takes Angela fast and rough, pulls her back against her with every thrust.

Angela knows what it feels like to have Moira inside her, but like this? She’d nearly forgotten Moira in a rut. God, how could she have forgotten this, the way Moira husked and gasped between every guttural, animalistic moan, the way Moira’s nails dug into her skin and held her in place for her uses, the way Moira felt inside her, hot and forceful?

Even if Moira had had it in her to ask for permission, ask if Angela is sure this is what she wants, she wouldn’t have for fear of the answer. In this state she will not be denied, and her body is burning with need. Even with Angela's face in the pillow Moira can hear her grunting each time she plunges into her, and soon the grunts aren’t even that, simply a long, strained moan with intermittent sobs punctuating each of Moira’s rough thrusts, and from the darkening pillowcase it’s clear that Angela is drooling. God, how can Moira hold on like this, her wife hot and slick and trembling beneath her, everything about her begging for Moira to breed her?

It is not with her usual sultry moan that Moira cums but with a loud, primal growl ringing in Angela’s ears, sending waves of heat through her entire body, and the single, final, powerful thrust nearly knocks Angela’s knees out. She feels Moira, still pulsing inside her as she finishes in a few short, pointed thrusts. As Moira stills, buried deep, both women are trembling, neither able to stay up without the support of the other, though Moira’s grip on Angela’s shoulders is not so rough. The air is thick with their scent intermixed with their sex, and where there had been the fast, wet sounds of fucking there was now only gasping and ragged breaths.

One of Moira’s hands finds Angela’s hip, and Angela feels her shift quickly, urgently, desperately, moving her legs to the outside of Angela’s. The movement presses Moira deep in her, but it’s the promise of the position that makes Angela mewl as she buries her face back into the pillow once more, thrusting her hips back pleadingly.

Moira does not need the assistance, though, and she’s still scrambling on her knees, pushing clumsily, desperate for leverage when her swollen knot pushes into Angela’s twitching, welcoming cunt. Angela’s entire body jerks under her as she sobs loudly, a strained sound morphing into a loud, unabashed moan. Moira, too, is overcome, and she closes her eyes tight, shuddering and kneading at Angela’s flesh, her wonderful hips, that perfect spot at the base of her neck.

Both women are still for only a moment, Angela whimpering quietly into the wetted pillow as Moira swells inside her. As soon as Moira is confident she’s grown large enough that she won’t slip out she pushes gently on Angela’s hip, bidding her down to the floor along with her. Angela has no thought in her mind, her entire world circling, focused, pulsing around Moira’s knot buried in her, and she simply allows Moira to lower them both downward.

Moira is heavy, hot and sweaty, as she lays her weight on Angela, and Angela can feel her shudder, feel her gasp when she jerks her hips again, and God how could she have forgotten what it was like to take Moira’s knot? She hadn’t forgotten, she’d thought about it often, certainly it had been on her mind last night, but this. Of course it would be different if she were in her heat, of course, but she never imagined . . . It’s not the thought of Moira emptying herself inside her, shooting hot spurts of cum each time she shudders against Angela’s back. It isn’t the maddening sensation as she feels herself fill completely, feels the wet run of Moira’s cum leaking out of her with every little twitch and jerk of Moira’s hips. It isn’t even the sound of Moira’s heavy, stuttering breaths which come fast and hard but begin to slow in time.

It’s Moira’s mouth, it finds her right where she always has, right at the base of her neck, and Angela finds that scenting, marking, fucking? It’s nothing, it will never compare to this, feeling Moira claim her in every way, her mouth on her skin, Moira’s entire body pushing down on her, and Angela firmly stuck on Moira’s knot. Angela floods with every wonderful feeling she can imagine. Safety, security, protection. Adoration, devotion, reverence. Affection, tenderness, warmth. Love.

Moira is still gasping, swollen large yet all but spent inside of Angela, when Angela begins moving underneath her, pulling away slightly, tugging at Moira’s knot. She moves to grab at Angela’s hips again, to push her down and hold her still, to hiss at her to lie still and take what she asked for, but before she can find her senses Angela has pushed back against her again and Angela groans louder than ever as Moira’s knot shifts. Moira can’t help but gasp either, and as Angela whimpers she’s happy to oblige her needy wife.

It only takes a moment, Angela was already roaring from her heat, and Moira burying her knot inside of her had lit her aflame. It takes only a few short, careful pushes against Moira’s knot, each punctuated by a small, pathetic whimper, before she buries her face into the pillow again, her spasms pushing against Moira’s knot, sending a new strong wave of Moira’s cum to drip down onto the floor beneath her.

Angela isn’t sure how much time passed, but when she opens her eyes she is lying on her side on the floor. Moira’s wrapped entirely around her, holding her tightly with her arms and legs alike, and she can still feel Moira inside her, softened now. When Angela stirs she hears Moira hum affectionately and place a soft kiss over the red welt on her shoulder, and they both sigh as Moira finally slides herself out of Angela. Angela feels an unidentifiable but undeniable satisfaction at the squelching sound, the renewed trickle down the back of her leg, and from Moira’s hum, the way she holds Angela tighter, she’s fairly sure Moira is just as pleased.

Moira buries her face in Angela’s neck, breathing deep. The air was thick with Angela even before she arrived, and now Moira knows her own scent mixes in, covers it. No one who catches Angela’s scent will mistake her own scent as well, no one will think Angela is anything but hers, and with another deep breath she pushes Angela back onto her stomach, already swelling against Angela’s thigh once more.


End file.
